


Under My Skin

by jadehqknb



Series: Yakuza AU [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Blow Job, Consensual Sex, Deep kisses, Face Sitting, Hand Job, M/M, Massages, Rimming, Seduction, Tattoo Artist Matsukawa, ass eating, dancing around the obvious, flirting for a year and getting nowhere because you're a scary mob boss, semi-safe sex, yakuza boss daichi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29372274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadehqknb/pseuds/jadehqknb
Summary: Typically, those who leave a mark or draw blood from “The Carion” of Tokyo don’t live long enough to brag about the fact. There are a select few, however, encouraged to do so, even paid for it. Matsukawa Issei happens to be one of them. The problem is, Sawamura has left a mark on him too, only this one goes further than just skin deep.
Relationships: Matsukawa Issei/Sawamura Daichi
Series: Yakuza AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157552
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: Daichi Love Fest 2021





	Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glass_fossa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glass_fossa/gifts).



> Daichi LoveFest Day 3 - Skin: warm/cool * At home (Too long till I drown in your hands Too long since I’ve been a fool)
> 
> To Jenna, a fellow Matsukawa enthusiast. I hope you enjoy it!

Matsukawa swallows his lump of nerves. He always has to, coming here. The crunch of gravel under tires ceases as the car comes to a stop, his fist clenching the handle of his bag tightly as it does. By the time the door is opened for him, he’s relaxed again—at least outwardly. It wouldn’t do well to look nervous. And, really, he shouldn’t be. This is just business, _good_ business, but business.

 _Sure it is_. 

“Thanks for the lift,” he says to the driver. 

The blonde with glasses and resting bitch face doesn’t reply, merely walks towards the double doors of the high rise and opens one, waiting for Matsukawa to enter. No matter how many times he’s been here, the place still shocks him, looking more like a hotel than a condo complex. Gilded gold handles and accent pieces are everywhere, the floor polished to an almost ice-like finish. 

His escort passes him, dropping a curt ‘this way’ as he does.

Like he doesn’t know the drill. 

But he bites his tongue, dutifully following without giving lip. Anywhere else, he wouldn’t allow it but here… here there is an order and a process that, if not followed, has literally grave consequences. 

And it’s almost always for the outsiders. 

“Matsukawa Issei,” he offers to the young lady behind the desk, producing his ID. 

She takes it, glances from the image on the card to his face and back again. Then she nods, seemingly satisfied. “I see you’re on file already as an approved guest.” She hands him a card. “You may proceed to the elevator.” It’s the same, every time and Matsukawa is tempted to join in chorus with her next time. 

It probably wouldn’t go over very well. 

The walk to the elevator is short and he slides the card in and out of its designated slot. There’s a ding and then the doors part, allowing him entry. Once inside, he inserts it into another slot, leaving it there and presses the button emblazoned with PH. Another series of beeps follows and then the familiar feeling of going up begins. 

Despite knowing he’s on camera, he leans against the wall, letting out a long, slow breath. His heart is beating a little faster and he needs to calm down. The last thing he needs to do is have a shaky hand. 

The elevator moves swiftly, not stopping on any floors in its journey upwards. Stupid as it is, he allows himself a bit of pride that he’s the only one allowed to go where he’s headed at the moment. In what feels like no time, there’s a last ding and a reminder to remove the card so the doors can open. They part and he steps into the grand foyer of the penthouse. Where one might expect white, there’s black. Black marble floors, even shinier than the lobby, dark obsidian accents and instead of gold, there’s silver. 

There’s a spice scent in the air, kind of woodsy and it’s somewhat amusing given he’s in the heart of the city. He sets down his bag, about to start removing his boots when a voice draws his attention forward. 

“Good evening, Matsukawa-san. Thank you for making the time.” 

Sawamura-sama stands in robe of black silk, so shiny it looks like liquid. Matsukawa suddenly feels like an absolute _slob_ in his torn jeans and loose collar shirt, fingers still holding the laces of his boots. He stands only to bow quickly. “Good evening, Sawamura-sama. And it’s no trouble at all.”

It’s not a lie, not really. But even if he were busy, he knows he’d make the time to be here. And it’s not just because Sawamura-sama is one of the most powerful mafia bosses in the city. 

“Please, don’t trouble yourself with taking those off,” his host says, waving at his boots. 

“But—”

“I appreciate your aesthetic.”

Matsukawa can feel the pink blooming on his cheeks at the unexpected compliment. Afraid of what might come out of his mouth, he merely nods his agreement to the order. 

They remain staring at each other for a moment more before Sawamura-sama chuckles. “If I had known leaving your boots on would render you immobile, I wouldn’t have insisted.” 

Matsukawa starts, the heat cresting over his nose and he wants to plunge his face into the freezer just to get it to calm down. “My apologies,” he says, stepping forward. 

“Please, can we drop the formality?” Sawamura-sama sighs. As he does, his posture relaxes, allowing the fabric of the robe to part slightly, a deep v of his chest coming into view. Matsukawa should not be so affected because he sees skin all the time, has seen Sawamura-sama’s skin many, many times, has decorated it with creatures and flowers and symbols that tell a story only a few can read but those that can would do well to pay attention to. 

But he just can’t get used to it, can’t manage to keep his heart from thumping a little harder at even a half view of his firm pectorals, at the tease of his well-defined abs peeking in and out of view as he moves. 

And it’s only then that Matsukawa realizes… they’re alone. 

Usually, there’s a valet and at least two bodyguards flitting about, making sure he doesn’t act out of line, that their boss man—no matter how capable he is of taking care of himself—is safe. 

Suddenly it’s very, very warm and Matsukawa begins to sweat. At least with others present, it’s easier not to stare, knowing there are eyes on _him_ the entire time he’s here. But alone, truly alone with Sawamura-sama, that’s never happened before. 

“Would you like a drink, Matsukawa?” 

Blinking out of his stupor, Matsukawa finds Sawamura-sama at the expansive selection of alcohol in his bar, one eyebrow cocked up in curiosity. 

“Uh, no thank you, Sawamura-sama. Don’t want to get wobbly,” he replies, shaking his hand.

“What did I say about formality? Drop the ‘sama’, I hear it _all day_.” 

Confused but eager to comply, Matsukawa nods. “Ok… Sawamura.” 

There’s a small smile on his client’s face when he turns towards him again. “That’s better.” He downs the drink in one go, letting out a satisfied ‘ah’ and smacking his lips before licking them. 

Matsukawa is very, very concerned for his own health, what with his heart beating so hard and rapidly he’s likely to have a heart attack. In his nervous state, works come out because he can stop them. “Where’s your goon squad tonight?” 

Sawamura pours himself another drink, a different one this time, something blue that looks more like a potion than alcohol. “Why? Nervous to be with me alone?” His eyebrows rise as he asks the question, glass going to his lips, savoring this drink more than the last. 

Suddenly Matsukawa wishes he’d accepted the offer of one for himself. He feels the insane impulse to pull at his collar despite it being slung low under his neck. “Ah, no, it’s just, I guess I’m used to the routine?” It comes out more as a question than a statement. 

The silence of the room closes in around him as they stare at each other, Sawamura continuing to drink but never taking his eyes off Matsukawa’s face. When he’s done, he sets the glass down with a soft clink on the counter. “I guess I can understand that. But you see,” he turns to look out the wall of windows and Matsukawa stares at his strong jawline, notices the tenseness residing there, “I wanted to be able to fully relax tonight.” He looks at Matsukawa again, what can only be described as a devilish grin on his face. “I know you won’t hurt me. Well, not beyond the needles you impale into my skin.” 

Yep, definitely warmer in here. Throat dry and words stuck, Matsukawa just nods, weighted down with the heavy realization that Sawamura just admitted to him in so many words that he trusts him implicitly and can relax around him. That he doesn’t need anyone else here because what is Matsukawa going to do? 

Nothing. 

Except what he’s told. 

“Sure you don’t want that drink?” Sawamura asks, pouring yet another. Pink, fruity looking. 

Matsukawa licks his lips. “Well, maybe just one. Light on the proof. Please.” 

Chuckling, Sawamura surveys his collection, plucking out a bottle with orange liquid in it. He picks up a glass, small and stout, pouring out a portion then holding it out towards Matsukawa. “A personal favorite of my little sister’s. She came up with the blend herself—did for most of these actually. It tastes like an orange and cream cupcake. Very mild.” 

Taking the glass, Matsukawa sips the contents cautiously. The scent and taste of orange floods his senses but it’s not overwhelming. If anything, it’s comforting in an odd way. He nods, taking another deeper drink. “It’s delicious. She knows her stuff.” 

Nodding, Sawamura drinks from his glass as well before saying, “She’s gifted. I’m really proud.” And he sounds like it, looks like it, a soft smile on his face with his eyes far away in a memory. “I miss her.”

Dread flows through Matsukawa, his expression falling but Sawamura’s startled laughter catches him off guard. “Sorry, sorry. She didn’t die. Quite the opposite. Married and about to have a baby.” 

“Oh. Congratulations,” Matsukawa replies. 

Sawamura’s smile is warm and open when he looks at him.”Thank you, I’m going to spoil that child so bad.” He sets down his glass. “But enough chatter, I’ve kept you long enough and I appreciate your indulging me with sharing a drink.” Sawamura walks to where a chair—provided by Matsukawa’s shop—sits near another bank of windows. “We should get started so you can be on your way. I’m sure you’d like to get home and to bed.” 

“I’m fine,” Matsukawa says quickly before downing his drink. “I enjoy your company.”

Sawamura doesn’t reply beyond a small nod, but Matsukawa thinks he looks pleased and the warmth that follows shows just how far gone he is on this man. And it’s not just because he has a banging body and a killer grin. 

No, Sawamura is so much more than that, so much more than he shows. Matsukawa knows more about his lifestyle than someone outside of it should because he listens, he observes. It’s no coincidence his neighborhood is basically free of hoodlums ever since Sawamura graced his doorway. Nor is it a coincidence the other businesses around him—like Maeko-san’s clothing and tailor shop and Azumane-san’s bakery—have been thriving more than they have in years. 

That people can walk home at night safely. 

Matsukawa knows it’s Sawamura’s doing and even if he wishes it was beyond protecting one asset among the masses, he appreciates it. He’ll be the asset that keeps his neighbors and adopted family safe. 

“Are you sure you’re not tired?” Sawamura asks. 

Matsukawa didn’t realize he was just staring out the window until this moment. When he turns to face Sawamura, his breath catches in his throat.

His robe is gone. His robe is gone and he’s seated on the chair in boxer briefs, his thighs just out in the world wreaking havoc on Matsukawa’s libido. Except for a few scars, they are perfectly unmarked, the flesh taught and pristine. 

“I’m fine, um, sorry.”

_Get your shit together, Issei!_

“Lemme just grab the leg—bag! I’m going to get my bag!” 

Hurrying to the foyer, Matsukawa snatches up his bag, keeping his eyes averted from Sawamura’s, feeling him watching his every move. Instead, he busies himself with taking out his tools, setting them up on the table also left here for these private sessions. “So, what’re we doing this evening?” Amazingly, he manages to keep his tone even, possibly professional. Maybe. It’s probably just wishful thinking. 

There’s a pause, a long one, but he keeps his eyes averted, fiddling with tools and pulling out ink until he feels like he’s going to combust under the scrutiny of Sawamura’s gaze. 

Then his voice breaks the silence. “Actually, I was hoping for your input on this one.” 

Matsukawa can’t stop himself from looking. Even nearly naked, Sawamura looks like a king on a throne, his expression betraying no embarrassment. Not that he has anything to be embarrassed about. Then his words catch up with him and Matsukawa blinks, surprised. “You want me to choose the design?” 

Sawamura nods, crossing his arms and leaning back. 

“Why?” Matsukawa can’t help asking. 

Taking a deep breath, Sawamura glances out the windows again, looking at the vast spread of the city far beneath them. Then he speaks, “Everything on my body so far means something. It should, right? Because why put it there?” His eyes meet Matsukawa’s again, a furrow on his brow. “But these are warnings. Bragging rights. Identifiers. They’re on me because of what I have to be.” 

He pauses, expression softening just slightly. “But tonight, I want something just for me that has nothing to do with my family, nothing to do with my business. I want something you think fits me. Because I trust you.” 

Matsukawa’s heart is thundering against his chest, his pulse beating on the side of his head. He can’t believe the words he’s hearing and stares deep into those dark, brown eyes. Words aren’t coming easily because what does he say to that? 

Well, there is one thing. 

“I’m honored,” he finally manages. His nerves are still alight with anticipation and he takes a quiet, deep breath to steady them. 

Sawamura smiles softly. “Then, what do you think?” 

“Where did you want it?” 

“My thigh.” Their eyes meet again. “Like I said, this is just for me.” 

The words ‘from you’ ring in Matsukawa’s mind so loudly he second guesses whether he actually heard them. But Sawamura is still just staring at him, his mouth no longer moving and he has to stop staring and focus. 

“Right. Ok, um,” Matsukawa digs into his bag again, pulling out the spare sketchbook he carries everywhere with him for when inspiration hits unexpectedly. He really wishes he’d been prepared, but then again, he would probably overthink it if not put on the spot. 

“I understand if you’d prefer time to consider your answer,” Sawamura says. “It was rather rude of me to drop this out of nowhere.” 

“No, it’s ok,” Matsukawa insists. He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes to clear his mind. He ignores the feeling of being watched, works to make his mind as blank as the fresh, crisp white paper resting in his hands. He thinks about Sawamura, everything he knows about him beyond the surface. It’s not much—the man is secretive by dint of necessity—but Matsukawa is an observer and from what he _has_ seen, there’s one thing that’s perfect. 

He opens his eyes and begins drawing, the familiar scratch of pencil against paper fills his ears. The image the presents itself from his fingers is simple in design, sharps edges and clean lines, black with no frills but he just keeps going, instinct guiding him as much as his talent. The quiet extends, Sawamura remaining silent as Matsukawa works until finally he looks up and presents the page before he can second guess himself. 

“Interesting choice,” Sawamura murmurs, “why a crown?” 

Matsukawa turns the page back to himself, really taking in what he drew. The five points of the crown are sharp points, looking able to puncture skin with little trouble, the color black as the robe Sawamura was in when he arrived. He looks up at the man again, tries to keep his voice from shaking when he admits, “Your aura is very powerful and this city, I don’t know, it kind of feels like your kingdom.” It’s a risk, admitting this, but it’s out now and he means every word of it. 

He sees surprise in Sawamura’s eyes. “You really think that?” 

Matsukawa nods, swallowing the ball of nerves threatening to choke him. 

Sawamura chuckles. “I’m guessing it’s a good thing, if you’re willing to put it on me permanently.” He takes the sketchbook back in hand, eyes tracing over the image and Matsukawa is relieved to see his smile stays in place. Then he nods and hands the book back to him. “Looks good, let’s do it.”

Setting the book aside, Matsukawa returns to prepping, pulling out the bottle of black ink and his tattoo gun. “Where on your thigh would you like it?” 

“Originally, I thought about the back, but now I want it on top.” He points to a spot on his leg right in the middle of the meat of his thigh and Matsukawa has to breathe deep because _damn_ those legs. “Right here should look good.” 

“Yeah, perfect,” Matsukawa agrees. He takes out a clean pair of black latex gloves, removing the skull ring from his middle finger and the small ruby from his pinky before pulling them on one by one, careful not to tear. Protection in place, he slowly fills the ink chamber to full, giving a quick test buzz to make sure there are no clogs even though he brought a new, clean piece. 

Only the best for Sawamura Daichi. Matsukawa’s standard, not his. 

By the time he’s turned back to Sawamura, the man is relaxed in his seat, legs parted just enough that, should he choose to, Matsukawa could slot himself easily between them. 

“How would you like me?” Sawamura asks and _oh_ how Matsukawa wishes he were bold enough to take that opener and kick the door in. 

“Actually, for this one you can lie down,” Matsukawa offers. “Though I don’t think that unit goes flat.” 

“Not to worry, I have a massage table, assuming that’s not too tall?” 

“I can make it work,” Matsukawa agrees. 

Without another word, Sawamura rises from the chair then picks it up. He would offer to help, but Matsukawa is too busy staring at a broad back and flexed arms he would give pretty much anything to touch without the barrier of his gloves. The skin is taut, muscles well defined but not too sharp, he can tell there’s a proper give to them that he can only imagine would be heavenly to grab hold of. He watches the entire time, entranced as Sawamura disappears from view only to reappear in just over a minute, carrying the still folded massage table. 

He has to be aware of Matsukawa’s staring but doesn’t say a word, just sets the table down, unlocks it, pulls it up and locks it in place. It isn’t until he’s climbed on to it that he speaks. “Maybe I should have offered you a rum and coke, then at least you’d have had a shot of caffeine.” 

“Huh?” Matsukawa blinks, eyes trailing up to Sawamura’s face, finding an amused smile and what almost looks like a twinkle in his eyes. Then he realizes he’s just standing here, staring like an idiot while a man who could move mountains with just a few words set up his own table. “Sorry! God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.” 

Sawamura doesn’t reply but the look in his eyes makes Matsukawa’s skin itch and his feet want to fidget. 

Instead, he picks up his gun and moves on. “Feel free to lie back, this won’t be a really long one like the rest of your pieces, but I doubt you’ll want to lean on your hands that long.” 

“I will, I just like watching. It’s… rather fascinating.”

Again that tone with an undercurrent that Matsukawa isn’t sure is his wishful thinking. He moves forward, placing a wet wipe on Sawamura’s skin to clean it, a towel next to dry. Laying out the trace paper, he freshens the ink then lays it on Sawamura’s thigh to transfer the pattern, pressing down into firm muscle and skin he can feel is very warm even through the barrier of gloves and paper. When it’s set up, he peels it back, revealing the design. 

“Last chance to back out,” he says, glancing over his shoulder, startled to find Sawamura staring not at his leg but at him. 

He flicks a quick look to his outline on his skin, humming a pleased sound. “Looks perfect,” he says, eyes going back to Matsukawa’s face. 

Feeling like he could really use another drink, more of the water kind than alcohol, Matsukawa turns back to his work, picking up the gun and setting the tip against Sawamura’s skin. “Alright, here we go,” he says as a way of warning. With a press of its trigger, the gun comes to life, needle moving in a blur imprinting onto Sawamura’s skin. He moves it slowly, wiping away droplets of blood and making sure the color is coming out black as pitch. 

Filling this in is going to take a while, he realizes. Even with it being a medium-sized image, that’s a lot of blank space to fill with black. Save for the buzz of the gun and his own breathing, the room is silent. If it weren’t for the burning he feels on the back of his neck, Matsukawa would think Sawamura fell asleep. But he can feel those eyes watching him and while it usually doesn’t bother him, there’s something in the air tonight that prickles against his skin, putting him on edge. 

If he’s not careful, he’ll get distracted and make a mistake and that will surely result in more than prickles on his body. Refocusing, he moves a little quicker as he gets into the zone, his other hand spreading the skin just a little tighter to allow for a smoother application. 

Before he knows it, the outline is complete. Wiping away one last bit of blood, Matsukawa tosses the rag into a sanitation bag, righting himself and wincing as his back twinges. He didn’t realize how hunched over he was until now. 

“Are you ok?” Sawamura asks. 

His voice seems loud in the quiet of the room and Matsukawa starts just enough to make him hiss in discomfort. He bites his bottom lip, nodding despite it being a lie. “Yeah, just, didn’t realize I hadn’t moved for so long.” 

“Let’s take a break, then,” Sawamura replies, shifting off the table. 

There’s a thump against it and Matsukawa turns in confusion at the sound. He finds Sawamura patting the padded surface. “Take a load off, Matsukawa.” 

Heat rushes over the back of his neck. “Ah, that’s ok, really, I’m fine. Just gotta stretch.” 

“Matsukawa.” The tone is firm, not sharp, but Matsukawa recognizes authority when he hears it. He meets his eyes to Sawamura’s, waiting. He takes a deep breath, looks at the table and then back to him. He licks his lips, then speaks, softer this time, “If you’d allow me, I’d like to help you. It’s the least I can do.”

He stares at the table, butterflies swirling in his stomach and Makki’s voice screaming at him in his head not to be a pansy and just get on it! Nodding stiffly, he moves towards it, about to climb on when Sawamura’s hand on his shoulder stops him. “I think you’d be more comfortable without those heavy boots hanging on your feet.” Before Matsukawa can say a word, Sawamura is on one knee, fingers deftly flying over the intricate knots of his laces. Matsukawa has to look up at the ceiling, think of very unsexy things because _oh my god Sawamura Daichi is kneeling before him in just his underwear and he can’t handle it_. 

“There, that’s better.” He’s already pulled the boots off, moving them gently aside before standing up. “Now, get comfortable, I’ll be right back.” He moves away through the doorway of his bedroom again and Matsukawa lets out the breath he was holding. 

What the hell is going on? Is he having a vivid dream? Did someone slip him something before he got here and now he’s hallucinating? The click of a door snaps him out of himself and he hurries to comply with Sawamura’s orders of getting comfortable, which, yeah not going to happen, but he’ll try. 

He lays down face first, wincing as he goes, hoping he survives this night with even a shred of dignity intact and wondering if Sawamura will even want him to bother with filling in his piece. 

There’s the soft pad of bare feet on the tile floor as Sawamura approaches him. “Are you ok with me touching you?” he asks. 

Matsukawa feels the consent is implied but he appreciates the question all the same. “Ye.. yes,” he manages, cursing inwardly at his stutter. 

“And are you ok with me lifting your shirt? Hard to put this stuff on with cloth in the way.”

Oh god, he’s going to touch his _skin_?

“Yes.” At least this time it comes out as one solid word. 

He tries not to flinch at the push of the fabric up his back but a second later he’s moaning, _loudly_ , as Sawamura’s strong hands knead into his flesh. There’s a warming sensation and also something moist but he doesn’t care, sinking into the feeling of this gorgeous, powerful man’s _large_ hands on him. There’s the press of thumbs into the dimps of his back and a pleased hum follows. He thinks he hears ‘cute’ muttered behind him but he’s not sure. 

Sawamura’s hands roam up the curve of his back, pushing and rubbing as they go and Matsukawa has no doubt his muscles will comply with Sawamura’s will. 

“That’s it, just relax.” 

Oh, his voice is so sexy, a low baritone of auditory rich chocolate. Matsukawa’s eyes close and he feels a piece of his soul leaving his body as it relaxes under the expert ministrations of Sawamura. Feeling slightly drunk despite only having one drink, Matsukawa asks, “Where’d you learn to do this?” A groan slips out as a particularly tender spot is hit but the soothing touch that follows has him damn near purring if he could. 

“My mother was a hard working woman. After twelve hour days in the shop, she would come home and take care of us kids. Her back started to give her trouble so I would sneak in to watch the masseuses at the local beauty boutique so I could learn even just a portion of what they did. Eventually, I was able to take a small class and once I had the basics, I just perfected them.”

“I’ll say,” Matsukawa sighs. “Only this feels anything _but_ basic.”

“Thank you,” Sawamura says with a chuckle. 

“Thank _you_ ,” Matsukawa replies. He wants to stay here forever but the knowledge of an unfinished piece will weigh him down again so he shifts to get up, moving gingerly, surprised to find his muscles really are feeling better.

But Sawamura’s words stall him. “Who did this piece for you?” His fingers caress over his galaxy tattoo. “It’s beautiful.” 

Matsukawa shifts so he’s not awkwardly hanging half on, half off the table, opting instead to sit upon it, shivering as Sawamura’s hand doesn’t move away, instead tracing over his skin as he moves. He moves just enough for Matsukawa to swing his legs down but stays closer than expected. He’s back in his robe now. 

“Um, Makki,” he answers, recalling the question after a beat. “He’s pretty much my guy for that stuff. I mean, I can’t ink myself, at least, not on my back. I tried once, not on my back on my wrist, and it was so bad I had to have him cover it.” 

He’s rambling, why is he rambling over such a simple question? 

It’s because Sawamura is so close, his robe parted enough to see his chest and he wants to run his hands over his skin _so_ badly. 

“Matsukawa.” Again, just his name, again that authority that really shouldn’t affect him so much because he’s fought against it for most of his life but he craves it when it’s from Sawamura. He looks at his face, finds a tilted head and a small smile. “Don’t you think we’ve danced around for long enough?”

Matsukawa’s eyes widen, his palms sweating. Hell, he’s sweating all over despite the cool air of the A/C blowing on the back of his neck. “Wha… what do you mean?” 

Sawamura doesn’t say anything, just lifts one of Matsukawa’s glove covered hands, sliding his fingers under the edge of one and pulling it off with a snap. He tosses it aside, heedless of where it lands, then presses Matsukawa’s hand to his chest, right over his heart. It beats steadily, with confidence. “I want you to touch me, too,” Sawamura admits. “I want you, if you want, to touch me _all over_. No gloves, no clothes, just _skin_.” He takes Matsukawa’s other hand, pulls the glove off and it, too, goes flying somewhere into the unknown. Pressing the hand against the side of his face, Sawamura looks up into his face. “Do you want that? Do you want to touch me, Matsukawa?” 

“Fuck,” Matsukawa groans, pulling Sawamura between his legs and slotting their lips together. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Sawamura chuckles against him. 

“Let me take care of you now,” Matsukawa sighs, moving both hands to Sawamura’s face, pressing kisses all over. 

“My bedroom is right there,” Sawamura says, moving back. 

Matsukawa hops off the table, follows Sawamura as he walks, moans when the robe falls to the floor revealing _nothing_ underneath. 

“It was a gamble taking off my underwear but I didn’t want to waste any more time,” he advises, turning to grab Matsukawa’s shirt and tug it up. Matsukawa takes it the rest of the way, tossing it aside. Sawamura’s hands run over his torso. “You’re so fucking beautiful, it’s ridiculous.” 

“I think you have things confused, you’re the beautiful one here,” Matsukawa argues lightly, pulling off his belt and then his pants. His cock bounces as he moves, pushing Sawamura back to the bed, shocked at his own boldness to move him about so. 

Sawamura doesn’t seem to mind, however, laying with his arms above his head, his legs splayed out, his cock twitching and leaking with very apparent want. “Please don’t make me wait anymore, Matsukawa,” he sighs. 

“You’re quite the seducer,” Matsukawa replies, crawling up the bed. He starts at Sawamura’s feet, rubbing the bottoms then rolling to the front. He trails up his legs, leaning in to press light kisses as he makes his way upward, never removing his hands. 

“Please, I’ve been flirting with you for the better part of a year.”

“To be fair, you’re pretty intimidating Sawamura. I mean, who wants to be on the wrong end of an assumption with you?” 

“Hence why I listened to Tooru and finally told you directly.” He grins. “But not before teasing you just a little bit more.” 

“You’re a brat,” Matsukawa laughs, licking a long stripe up Sawamura’s torso. “Maybe I should punish you.”

“Later, just please… touch me,” Sawamura sighs, arching as Matsukawa slides his palms under his back, pressing more kisses to his stomach. 

“Unfair,” Matsukawa mutters against his skin but he complies, hard cock pressed against silk sheets that probably cost more than his apartment’s monthly rent. He dips his tongue into Sawamura’s navel, swirling it around, relishing in the soft sighs and moans as he moves over the warm skin beneath him. 

He moves back down Sawamura’s body, licking and kissing as he goes. Sawamura shifts, laying his hand against the side of Matsukawa’s face, making him look up at him. “I want to try something with you if you’re ok with it?” 

“I thought you wanted me to touch you?” he teases, eyebrow cocked up. 

“I do but I want to touch you too and I think you’ll like this. If not, we can stop.” 

Grinning, Matsukawa rises to his knees before pushing forward to snag a hard kiss. “I have no doubt I’ll love whatever you have in mind.” 

“Then lie down,” Sawamura counters, nipping his bottom lip. 

Matsukawa complies, flopping to his back, eyes widening when Sawamura straddles his head, his cock dangling before his face. And then his own cock is enveloped in warm, wet heat and he groans loudly. “Oh fuck, you’re amazing,” he gasps. 

Grabbing handfuls of delectable ass, Matsukawa shoves Sawamura’s cock into his open mouth, letting it tap the back of his throat. Sawamura moans around his cock making him inhale sharply and he has to pull off with a cough. 

“Are you ok?” 

“I’m fine! Please… don’t stop,” Matsukawa sighs. He grabs that ass again, angles to a better position and licks from Sawamura’s sack to his hole, teasing the rim. “Hope you don’t mind an improvisation.” 

Sawamura answers with a moan around Matsukawa’s cock, bobbing his head in earnest. Matsukawa’s hands never cease their movement, rubbing over Sawamura’s thick thighs and perfectly round ass, to his cock to stroke it gently, teasingly, all while trying not to blow his load too quickly down Sawamura’s throat. 

“Oh god, you’re so good,” he says between kisses and licks of Sawamura’s skin. “Come here, take a load off.” He pulls, seating Sawamura’s ass right over his face, long fingers prying him apart far enough to bury his tongue within it. 

“Matsukawa!” Sawamura’s voice rings free in the room, his hips rolling as he seeks more pleasure. 

Then a fist is around Matsukawa’s cock and he gasps, head falling back to gather oxygen. “So good, so good, don’t stop!” 

Sawamura fists him in earnest, tongue teasing his crown and slit. “I’m going to come,” Matsukawa warns, mere seconds before he does. 

He barely has time to catch his breath before Sawamura has spun around, capturing his lips in a deep kiss, all but slamming Matsukawa’s hand against his dick, wrapping his fingers around it. Matsukawa gets the hint, fisting him quickly. Sawamura pants into his mouth, “Yesyesyes, fuck… fuck!” 

And then there’s wetness against Matsukawa’s thigh and weight on his body, his arms wrapping around Sawamura’s back to hold him close as he catches his breath again. When he can breathe without gasping, he tilts Sawamura’s head up, pressing soft kisses to his lips. 

“Stay with me, let me yours,” he begs Sawamura. 

“I want to, I want you,” Sawamura admits, clean hand cupping Matsukawa’s face. “It’s risky.” 

“You’re worth every risk,” Matsukawa insists. 

“Then consider yourself mine,” Sawamura says with a smile. He presses it to Matsukawa’s lips, murmuring against them, “And I, yours.” 


End file.
